


one less bomb in the garden

by rum4life



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Gen, If You Squint - Freeform, Pre-Slash, angsty talks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 18:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7652719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rum4life/pseuds/rum4life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad seeks Nate out after the events in "Bomb in the Garden".</p>
            </blockquote>





	one less bomb in the garden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [woozyghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/woozyghost/gifts).



> tumblr prompt by soldatspiers: After Nate orders Brad to let the bomb in the garden, Brad goes to him and they have a talk, a real one.

When Brad finds Nate, his eyes are no less forgiving than they’d been in the garden. He does, however, have two cups of Rudy’s coffee in his hand. 

He holds them out to Nate without a word; Nate takes one with one hand, the tip of his forefinger touching the hot liquid, and lowers his rifle parts to the ground beside him with the other.

Gunshots sound outside the perimeter of the stadium, echoing in to fill the silence. Nate looks up into the shadows of Brad’s eyes and can’t bring himself to drink.

“Battalion passed down word to assess a nearby minefield,” Brad says finally. He doesn’t join Nate on the ground, just stands motionless before him, a hand tucked beneath the strap of his M-4. “Assassin Actual point-blank refused the order, but Team Three picked it up.”

Nate nods. He knows already, can see that Brad knows he knows but is telling him anyway. He waits and lets the warmth seep from his cup into the grit on his palm, just listens to the silence stretch between them again.

“They say the war is over,” Brad says, out of the blue. “Do you believe that, sir?”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe,” Nate replies, because, well, it _doesn’t_ , he knows that now, refuses to believe that after all this time Brad hasn’t come to understand as well. “I-“

“This morning,” interrupts Brad flatly, shocking Nate into silence, “you believed that my life wasn’t worth _maintaining property values in Greater Baghdad_. Sir.”

So _that’s_ the real reason for Brad seeking him out. Nate swallows against the sudden dryness in his mouth; distant gunshots punctuate what could be an accusation if it hadn’t been said with so little emotion.

“I did,” Nate answers slowly, “because it’s _not_ , Brad. Unnecessary risks like that are what get good men killed for nothing.”

“For nothing,” Brad repeats, then lets out a bark of bitter laughter. He looks away from Nate, then, into the darkness beyond them. At nothing. “That’s what we’re here for, sir, isn’t it? Liberating the people. Superheroes with big guns and the shitty tinplated equivalents of Batmobiles, protecting them from the dangers posed to them by the big bad government.”

“Fiddling with unstable ordnance without the necessary training in someone’s backyard and invading a country under orders are two separate things,” Nate shoots back, angry that Brad is still refusing to accept reality.

He’s about to get to his feet, cover the distance between them and level the playing field, when Brad beats him to it and crouches in a sudden, fluid movement. Nate feels the anger leave his body, replaced by a sort of desperation he can’t put his finger on but feels every time Brad looks at him the way he’s looking at him now. His broad shoulders are uncharacteristically bowed, as though weighed down by a burden invisible to the naked eye, and beneath the dirt and sunburn his skin has a translucent quality. Pale and wan.

“Sir,” he says quietly, “Tell me I’m not the only one who’s finding it hard not to give a shit here.”

_Fuck._ Nate clenches his jaw. “Brad-“

“Tell me- just… sir, explain to me what it means when one of the best officers in the battalion stops giving a shit. Tell me what it means for this country. For this war.”

“I can’t,” Nate starts, with that strange desperation, as Brad leans forward into the dim light streaming down over Nate’s shoulder. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Brad.”

“The entire point of this fucking war, of our giving our lives to the Corps- isn’t it to make a difference?” Emotion is finally starting to color his voice: a little anger and frustration and maybe a bit of pleading, pleading for Nate to help him understand why. “That’s why I joined the Corps, sir, why I applied for Recon, and I know that’s why you did, too. Becoming the best, in the best military in the world, to ensure our legacy is a fucking proud one. Doing what other men can’t and will never be able to do.”

“Your legacy is secure without attempting suicide to save a single family,” Nate says urgently. “Brad, idealism can only take us so far. This morning had nothing to do with this war. It had to do with a hero complex that will get you, and other men, killed.”

“Maybe, _sir _, it was just human fucking decency.”__

“Do you really believe that is something you can apply to this situation?” Nate demands, and Brad stands again, body taut with frustration. He turns on his heel and stalks away for a few paces, then returns, expression dark. “Make me out to be your scapegoat, Brad, that’s fine. We all need to blame someone, and I deserve it, because I’ll be the _first_ to admit that I’ve said and done things that I’ll have to live with for my entire life. But I don't regret stopping you this morning." Nate climbs to his feet, too restless to sit any longer.

“This,” Brad snaps, waving a hand almost dismissively between them, “has nothing to do with me needing a scapegoat, sir. I’d hoped that I’d made it clear by now that my respect for you is unquestionable, and I stand by it, but it is also what’s making it so fucking hard for me to get your thought process."

“What does my thought process have to do with-“

“Those were _your_ orders, not some bullshit rolling down from command. You really believed that it was something that couldn’t be risked, when every day we risk our lives going out into the streets of this fucking open sewer of a city anyway.”

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe it was just you attempting to resolve yourself of your guilt?” Nate snaps back, takes a step closer. He tries not to feel guilty himself when Brad makes a small movement, like Nate has just slapped him in the face. “Just admit that you let emotions cloud your judgment. If you’d been thinking rationally, you’d never have gotten into that hole, and I wouldn’t have had to stop you.”

Brad is looking at him like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. Nate stares back at him stonily, even as his heart beats double-time against his chest, which feels tender against the coarse fibers of his fatigues.

“Sir,” Brad bites out, “the fact that you can say that to me with a straight face, after working with me in this hellhole for more than a fucking month—“ He shakes his head with a sarcastic facsimile of a smile. “All due respect, sir, turns out you don’t know shit about what I would or wouldn’t do.”

It shouldn’t sting as much as it does. Brad has been a solid presence by his side-- to the point where Nate feels a little lost and empty when he isn’t physically around—and they’ve developed a working relationship that Nate has never experienced before in his life, but as much as he hates to admit it… just because he and Brad can communicate without words in the field doesn’t mean their connection extends any further.

The statement stings because he’s right: Nate probably thinks he knows Brad more than he actually does.

Brad’s accusing eyes are still on him, hawkish, braced for his reaction. Nate should probably call him out for stepping out of line, but… it’s _Brad_. So he just sighs.

“You’re right,” he says.

Brad blinks.

“I know you as Sergeant Colbert,” Nate continues, “the Team Leader that I can depend upon to make difficult decisions. When your men’s lives are on the line, you take fewer risks because you care about their safety. Why is it that, when it comes to your own life, you can’t do the same thing?”

“Because it isn’t the same thing,” Brad replies, voice emotionless again.

Stubborn, stubborn, _stubborn._ “It _is_ the fucking same thing,” Nate says, clenching his fist against the urge to lash out. Stubborn, stubbornstubborn _idiot_. “It’s the same because there are people who will be affected by whether you live or fucking die, don’t you see that?

“If I were afraid to die, I wouldn’t have become a fucking Marine.”

“It's not about you being afraid or not. You dying would fuck your men up more than you apparently realize."

“This is a war. What do they expect?”

Nate turns, swears under his breath, trying to get ahold of his frustration. “You know you don’t have to do that, Brad. Not here."

“Do what, sir?”

Turning back to face him, Nate presses the bridge of his nose between his fingers and lets out a harsh breath. “That Alpha bullshit you do. Not showing fear in front of the pack. There’s no one here but me.”

“You _are_ my pack,” Brad says, and then goes very still.

Nate says nothing, just thinks: _Oh_. The words, the way they'd been said like an involuntary reaction, something so natural Brad didn't even think twice... it all leaves him speechless, body warmed to the core despite the cool desert air.

“The invasion is over,” Nate says finally, softly, waves a hand through the air hanging awkward and tense between them. “But we both know the war is just beginning. _That_ is what I believe. Shit's going to go down that'll make all this look like the fucking It’s a Small World After All ride at Disneyland. We have to make our peace with that, that there’s only so much a small platoon can do in the grand scheme of things and come out intact.”

“That satanic ritual masquerading as a children’s ride has given me more nightmares than the horrors of war ever will,” Brad says unexpectedly, and it makes Nate laugh. Not loudly, but enough to make his body sway forward, and he stumbles, just a little.

Brad catches his arm and holds him steady, firm as ever.

“I’m just surprised you’ve been to Disneyland,” Nate breathes, suddenly very aware of how close their bodies are. How Brad’s ever-present invisible wall with the _Trespassers Will Be Shot_ sign is suddenly nonexistent. It makes him feel unsettled.

Brad is looking down at him, still and silent. “Like I said, as have countless 80’s movie misunderstood romantic interests before me,” he replies, voice low, “there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“For someone trying not to be homoerotic, that was definitely toeing the line,” Nate says under his breath, holding in another burst of laughter. He might be a little bit on the wrong side of overtired.

Brad doesn’t laugh, though. He leans in until his face is inches from Nate’s, breath brushing warm against Nate’s face. His face is serious, but when he speaks, his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners in amusement. “I think you’re reading a little too much into this, sir. If this were an 80’s movie, and I were your love interest… my seduction techniques would be a lot clumsier. Unsubtle, with a boom box. Maybe naked and holding a guitar.”

“Maybe naked and holding a boom box,” Nate suggests.

Brad smiles, then. His teeth gleam in the moonlight. “Maybe.”

Nate looks down, away from it, and studies Brad’s Kevlar vest for a long moment before looking back up again. Processing their conversation. “Are you good, Brad?”

Brad tilts his head to the side a little. “Marines make do, sir. “

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Yes, sir. I know.”

_Trespassers Will Be Shot._ Nate gets the hint, but he searches Brad’s face anyway -- for a hint of the warmth that sometimes rears its head when everyone least expects it, or traces of bitterness left over from that morning. He finds nothing but the cool stare that’s helped him keep his sanity somewhat intact throughout the entire invasion, the memory of which will no doubt stay with him for the rest of his life.

Nate walks away.


End file.
